


Band Camp is Hell, But We Navigate it Well

by too_short_to_ride



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Marching Band, M/M, Mutual Pining, i'm shit at updating, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2018-12-17 15:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11854362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/too_short_to_ride/pseuds/too_short_to_ride
Summary: A collection of oneshots about some band boys and the squip squad. Tags will be updated as this progresses.





	1. Gush and Go

**Author's Note:**

> OMFG IM POSTING A FIC!!1!  
> the au comes from bits and pieces of tumblr, and more bmc is arriving soon...  
> enjoy! :3c

"Ok, everyone- gush and go! You have two minutes!"

Jeremy and Michael set down their equipment, shot each other a relieved glance, and raced to each other across the practice field, slowing down when they neared each other and walking to their spot under a tree. They failed to notice that they stepped in time with one another, but even if they did, they were too exhausted to care.

"Jesus Christ, look at me- I'm still roll stepping," groaned Michael as he flopped to the ground with a thump. Jeremy sat down more carefully, crossed his legs, and leaned against his player two as he twisted open the cap to his water bottle. Michael could feel Jeremy relax against him, and he placed a hand on the ground behind him to keep the two stable.

"The more you do it, the better you get," remarked Jeremy, quoting their drill director's infamous mantra. Michael chuckled as he opened his own container.

"So how has your first set been? Did you survive? Are you sweaty as fuck? Because I know I sure am."

"Yeah, I can't believe we have drill for another hour and a half- and that you can hold a horn in the air for that long! The sound of that metronome will probably haunt my dreams."

As the boys drank their water, Michael glanced in Jeremy's direction. He had tilted his head back at the perfect angle- it made his fluffy hair fall across his face in such a way that it framed his eyes, and the afternoon light cast a golden halo around his slim features. In the sun, Michael could barely make out the bluebell irises underneath half-closed eyelids and long lashes as the boy next to him lifted his water bottle at a higher angle, his gaze unfocused and carefree. 

They were pressed into each other, the tips of their fingers touching and their feet intertwined. Body heat, Michael decided, drowned out the hell heat from the sky in the best way possible. He couldn't take his eyes off of Jeremy as he subconsciously twisted his cap shut, a half smile on his face.  
Michael snapped out of his August-induced stupor with the shouting of the drill director- "Alright guys, back to the field, back to the field, we have a lot more work to do! Come on, get up, we have less than two hours!"

Jeremy stood quickly, holding out his hand. As Michael pulled himself up, he almost caused Jeremy to topple over. They regained their balance and speed walked back to the field, their feet touching the ground at the same time.

Michael thanked the stars that water breaks always seemed to last a little longer than what the director usually implied.


	2. Lunch Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s always the one part of the day where the band kids can relax and talk amongst themselves.

The clock hit noon, and everyone set down their instruments- they were all free for one hour.

         Jeremy burst into the band room, grinning and starry-eyed as Michael opened his sushi, and did his brain have to remind him of his crush at precisely this moment? He mentally shook himself and moved his horn to make space for the taller of the two. As Jeremy approached Michael, his excitement about whatever happened in the past few hours spilled over.

         "Michael, Michael, guess what? We got our flags for the performance, and since it's a medley for that one musical, Dear Evan Hansen, mine is blue and white striped, isn't that cool?"

         "That's amazing, Jer! Did you guys hear the national anthem from outside? The trumpets were really, really loud," Michael replied, ending with a deadpan stare at Rich across the room.

         "No, but I heard the battery practicing! I love their part at the very beginning of the piece…" Jeremy rolled his tongue, somehow imitating a drumroll perfectly. "So is Christine doing well as drum major?"

         "Yeah, although she bounces a lot and never seems to get tired..."

         Michael had to mentally slap himself- _what the hell, man, don’t be jealous._

         Jeremy sighed, staring into the distance. "Sometimes I wish I had played an instrument instead of trying out for color guard..." He suddenly turned toward Michael. "Then I would get to hang out with you more, too!"

         "I guess your dad's sousaphone horror stories left enough of a mark, otherwise you would be here in the band, huh?"

         “The phrase ‘I carried thirty pounds of brass on my shoulders’ must do something to a person.”

         As he discussed the pros and cons of low brass with Jeremy, Michael noticed that the shortest trumpet player in the band was drinking from an abnormally large scarlet colored bottle.

         "Rich, is that Mountain Dew Red?"

         "Sure is," Rich called from his seat next to Jake, holding aloft a sixteen-inch-tall giant of a soda container. "Got a bigger bottle just for camp!"

         "Hey, my water bottle's nearly empty, can you pour some in?"

         Rich strolled to Michael and, grinning, upturned the bottle, filling the entire metal container with the beverage.

         "What the hell, dude. I said SOME, not 'fill the whole thing'."

         "Don't complain, share with your boyfriend," Rich called over his shoulder as he sat down again.

         "He's not my- _Rich!_ "

         Michael's face flushed as red as the soda he held. Jeremy, his face equally red, laughed as the brass player casually flipped the pair off.

         Jeremy held out his own water bottle. “Don’t worry, you can have some of mine- there’s just plain old H2O in here. You _have_ been drinking enough water, right?”

         Michael’s reassuring smile melted Jeremy’s concerned expression. “Of course! We don’t want a repeat of two years ago, do we?”

 ---

It happened in his freshman year.

         Michael couldn't decide which one he loathed the most- double time, backwards marching, or small steps. And here he was, marching twelve steps a line, backward, in double time. His arms burned, his eyes watered, and his chest heaved. The rhythm of his feet on the grass rang in his ears. Sometimes he wished he had chosen the clarinet or something easier to carry. He had to stick it out, though- in only twenty minutes, basic drill was over.

         _Just keep stepping, keep your legs straight and your heels off the ground._ His head began to spin, but he could still see in front of him, he was definitely alright. _Just keep counting the steps._ One, two- _heel off the ground_ \- three, four- _back straight-_ five, six, seven-

 

         He never made it to twelve.

_\---_

         Jeremy heard a loud thump and a few screams, and then the slightly panicked voice of the band director. The color guard paused their work to look at whatever had happened and-

 

_he was on the ground_

_out cold_

_glasses askew_

_still clutching his instrument._

 

         Jeremy let out a strangled scream, threw down his flag, and sprinted to the field.

         "WHAT HAPPENED is he going to be okay when will he wake up how did this happen?" he all but screamed at the director as he knelt down next to Michael and gently lifted his head off the ground. Rich, having dropped his instrument earlier, walked to Jeremy's side and helped him carry Michael into the building.

 

         Michael blinked his eyes open, and the first thing that his vision focused on was Jeremy's terrified, tear-streaked face above his. "Hey, what, what happened? How did I get in here, I have to get back on the field-"

         "Michael, camp is over for today. You've been unconscious for three hours."

         Michael's brain short-circuited. He had fainted in front of everyone? He had been here for _three hours?_

Jeremy must have been so worried.

 

“I guess I don’t feel as bad laughing about it now.”

            “You blacked out, Michael, that’s nothing to laugh about!”

            The darker-haired boy leaned back, eventually dropping face up onto the floor with a soft thump. “Yeah, but it’s all water under the bridge now, and we still get more water breaks, so it’s not like the whole thing happened for nothing.”

            Jeremy rested his hand on top of Michael’s. “Sometimes I worry about you.”

            At that moment, Brooke strolled into the room with her flute. “Hey, Jerry, Chlo wants you back on the field in, like, two minutes.”

            “Damn.” Jeremy glanced at the clock, and sure enough, the hour hand was nearly touching one. “Well, see you during drill, then.”

            “Not if I see you first!” Michael replied, handing back the water bottle. “Have fun out there.”

            As Jeremy left the room laughing sarcastically, Michael sat down and stared at the ground, his head in his hands. He ignored Rich’s distant “lmao” and glanced at his watch.

1:00.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this Killed Me to proofread and i'm still not satisfied but oh well  
> also mr heere definitely played sousaphone in high school/college and has like 99 stories about the instrument  
> hope you enjoyed!


	3. End of Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe thinks Jeremy needs to realize a few things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK WHO APPEARED FROM THE DEAD!!  
> sorry i haven't updated in a while! i'm thinking of just keeping this open and adding chapters when ideas pop into my head. there will be other ships in here too, hopefully... but in the meantime, enjoy!

The Cage, despite its ominous name, was one of Jeremy's favorite places to hang out while he waited for Michael to finish. After practice ended, the color guard returned to the metal-enclosed courtyard and packed up their equipment. As Jeremy stripped his last flag and laid it in the long black bag beside him, he noticed Chloe walking in his direction, her phone already on again.

"Hey, Jerry, remember how you said you didn't have a crush on anyone during break last week? Well, ever since that day, I've recorded every time I caught you staring at Michael. You can thank me later," she finished, dropping her phone into his hands. Jeremy began to read the bulleted list in front of him, and with every date, another memory resurfaced.

 

_Tuesday, 4:30 PM_

 

Jeremy noticed the swell of music that meant the band's set was coming to a close. Settling into the routine he had just practiced, he spun his flag around his head and stole a glance at Michael. 

He was not prepared for the sight of his favorite person.

Michael's chest rose and fell in heavy and labored breaths, his short hair stuck up in a million different directions, and his glasses barely clung to his nose, threatening to slide off and fall to the grass. Sweat dropped from his forehead and his face was flushed with exhaustion, but he was grinning. In his fixed gaze on an unknown point ahead of him, Jeremy could see wonder and accomplishment. The flag, ignored, fell from his hands, clattering on the concrete.

 

_Wednesday, 5:15 PM_

 

Walking down the hallway from the practice field, Jeremy heard a familiar trill of chromatic notes. Curious, he turned left and peeked inside the band room. Sure enough, the entire ensemble was blasting along to Bang Bang, which happened to be one of their stand tunes. Christine was waving her hands in a controlled but upbeat 4/4, and each player was either watching her or focusing on their sheet music. Jeremy refocused his eyes- 

There he was, one eye squeezed shut, the other flicking between the podium and his stand book, leaning back slightly, bouncing on the balls of his feet, with his fingers flying over the valves as if nothing existed beyond the room. Jeremy could see Michael's smile, even while he was playing, and he could have stayed there for the rest of his life if Chloe hadn't dragged him back by his flag.

Once the two were out of sight and earshot, she spun him around to face her.

"Dude, you're in it deep. You're completely, totally fucked."

 

_Friday, 8:25 PM_

Jeremy didn't care for football, but he did enjoy football games. It gave him an excuse to sit in the stands with the guard members, buy a candy bar, and listen to the band play after the pre-game show. On this particular night, he had borrowed the brass player's hoodie (because Michael said it didn't match the school colors). Who cared if Jake texted you the Lenny face every five minutes- the warmth of the red fabric more than compensated for that. Jeremy gazed at the band as a whole, halfway through their performance of the school's fight song, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes from drifting up to the horn section. 

The floodlights outlined every valve, every thread, every feature of Michael's face in brilliant white. He was shivering slightly, and when he paused to inhale, Jeremy could see his breath in the air. He regretted borrowing the hoodie for a few seconds, but then remembered that the band member was in full uniform, jacket and all. Michael looked  _really good_ in that jacket-

Jeremy turned around so fast he nearly fell off the bleachers, suddenly aware of the world around him. That was called enjoying the  _aesthetic,_ he reminded himself as his face reddened.  _Aesthetic._

 

_Sunday, 11:40 PM_

Their band was so small that the color guard and brass could share a bus on competition days. Naturally, Jeremy and Michael were always seat buddies- once you have one, you never change. It was like an unspoken rule of competitions. Besides, the two were inseparable, so it came as a surprise to no one. 

"Hey, Jeremy?" 

"Yeah, Michael?"

"I'm just, I'm tired as shit and I think I'm gonna pass out here, can you wake me up when we get back?"

"Of course, dude! You deserve the rest, you worked really hard today, and-"

Michael had already fallen asleep, his chin resting on Jeremy's shoulder. 

He could feel Michael's heartbeat pulsing in a slow, rhythmic pattern (and his elbow, but that didn't matter). Jeremy wrapped his arm around Michael, pulling him closer, and tried to memorize every detail of his face. His mouth was open slightly, just enough toTHOSE THOUGHTS AREN'T NECESSARY RIGHT NOW, Jeremy stopped himself, sitting upright with a startled jolt. 

Thankfully, Michael didn't wake up.

 

\---

 

Jeremy stared at the screen in a way that only the truly mindfucked can manage for a few seconds after finishing reading. "How are there so many entries? I said this last Monday!" he demanded, snapping his gaze back up to Chloe.

"What can I say," she replied with a smirk, "except 'stop pining and ask the guy out already’?"

The metal bars of the Cage walls cast stripes of sunlight and shadow on Jeremy's blank face as Chloe walked through the gate and across the practice field.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOOO THANKS FOR THE COMMENTS THEY GIVE ME LIFE  
> comment any feedback or suggestions! until next time :3

**Author's Note:**

> Jeremy is in color guard, and Michael plays the mellophone.  
> I have more shit, and I'll try to update soon... (damn this is shorter than i thought)  
> leave a comment or kudos if you liked this i guess!


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